The Destruction of ArPharazôn the Golden
by Alcina
Summary: How did Sauron manage to manipulate Ar-Pharazôn, so that in the end all Númenor obeyed him and the King led an army against Valinor at his command? This fic (a Work in Progress) explores that question. Chapter 4 now up.
1. The King's Enemy

**CHAPTER 1**

It came to pass that the ships of Númenor sailed towards Middle Earth. No ships so mighty had ever been seen there. They came to bring war.

Ar-Pharazôn the Golden gloried above all in his military strength and in his own power; he would allow none to rival him. The King of Númenor had come across the sea to see that the one who claimed the title of Lord of Middle Earth would never challenge his authority or his might. He came to overthrow that Lord, and his motive was pride.

The Lord of Middle Earth watched the ships approach. And he smiled.

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There are other ways than warfare to destroy an enemy. He knows that.

And there are ways of destruction that are more subtle and run deeper than mere death. The memory of what the Men of Númenor had cost him more than one and a half millennia before in Eregion was more than reason for the Lord of Middle Earth to take time and effort to craft a careful, most fulfilling path of destruction for all in that land. Before they died, the men of Númenor would be at his feet, and he would laugh at the grief of the Valar to see their fall. It would cost him greatly, of course, but he could endure the necessary humiliation, knowing that the sure way to assuage doubt and have victory was to play on the pride of the one who sailed against him. If military victory was uncertain against the might of Ar-Pharazon's army, he would achieve victory another way. In time his plans would bear fruit, and all Númenor would kneel to him, even the proud King. He smiled at that thought.

The fleet was coming. From the highest cliff he watched them, with his sight that saw further than mortal Man's. The Men of Númenor themselves were providing the opportunity he had so long sought, and he need do nothing but go along with them. That concept pleased him, and he laid his plans.

His army he summoned, arraying them as for war. Not even the closest of his lieutenants knew that war was not what he purposed. The army was a mere stratagem, to deceive his enemy into thinking him defeated; an army created that it could be destroyed or intimidated by his foes. The thought amused him as he watched them prepare for battle, heard them cry his name as they dreamed of victory. When the time came, he would see to it that those of his servants who he selected to die would know in their terror his true purpose; the taste of their despair in his mind would be pleasing to him, some reward for what he would have to do to gain the final victory.

From the headland he watched the fleet sail into the harbours of Umbar. He was ready. The men of Númenor had at last sealed their own fate.

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He prepared himself on the morning of their arrival. Not with armour or weapons; those would not avail him against the army that sailed from Númenor, as it had not availed him before. He had learned from his defeat, as the men of Númenor had not learned from their victory. Ar-Pharazôn 's weakness, he knew, was his pride and his longing for glory. And the King of Númenor was no fool. He would be wary of treating with a rival King; he would never listen to his councils, or permit him to set foot on the shores of Númenor. But a defeated enemy, broken and humiliated... Ar-Pharazôn would be unable to resist the joys of gloating over such a one, and so soft words might be directed in his ear. And he was already estranged from the Valar in his beliefs, and thus vulnerable to Melkor and those who served him.

Very well then. The Lord of Middle Earth would provide a stage show which would gladden the heart of his enemy. He crafted for himself robes of black and crimson, embroidered with gold and gems, even as the Valar were wont to wear. And he took gold and great rubies, and wrought for himself headdress and belt and bracelets and rings; heavy and intricate, and lovely beyond mortal conception. These he knew Ar-Pharazôn would covet; the King would take them, and be greatly pleased. But the Ring that he wished to keep he would conceal, held within in his hand, so that none knew that it was there.

When he had finished this work, he took thought for his own form. He crafted a body in many ways similar to the bodies of Men, but of such beauty that no mortal could have possessed even in his thoughts. It was like to the men of Númenor in height, strong and lithe, as Men admired. He created hair as golden as the flames which wreathed his throne in Lúgburz, thick and shining, and eyes of such deep grey that they seemed almost as black as the darkness of that throne. Mortals were easily influenced by appearance, and almost as easily swayed by a fair form as by the form of terror he preferred.

And he went forth to meet the Fleet and Armies of Ar-Pharazôn .

He watched the march from the coast by the men of Númenor, watched with sight and mind.

Once, long ago, his forces had in truth been overthrown by the men of Númenor, and he had fled, afraid and ashamed, burning with anger, before them. Now a counterfeit of that defeat was the mechanism by which he would achieve their destruction, and it was fitting. His will he put forth to his servants, and drove some few of them to hopeless skirmishes, but then when battle was joined he fed them instead despair and terror, so that they fled before their enemies, and many were destroyed in their flight, amusing Ar-Pharazôn and feeding his pride. Some died cursing their Lord, and others gloried in their destruction that it was in his service, even as he made his true purpose known to them in the instant of their deaths.

Both reactions pleased him.

But for the most part, in the seven days that the host of Númenor marched over the land, they encountered few of his servants, and fewer withstood them. The lands were largely empty, as the true King of Middle-Earth prepared his trap.

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At length Ar-Pharazôn came to a hill, close to the Southern borders of Mordor, and his pavilions he erected, and had his heralds call forth his challenge, that the one who named himself Zigur, the Wizard, who was Lord of that Land, come forth and submit to the power of Númenor, or else be destroyed by the mighty army that Ar-Pharazôn believed none could withstand.

And the Lord of Middle Earth came.

So great was the glory of his appearance that even the servants of Ar-Pharazôn were amazed. He began by offering treaties of peace, on various terms, with a dignity and regal attitude which astounded them. These Ar-Pharazôn rejected with scorn, and was pleased to discover that he was not easily swayed even by so powerful a one as Zigur. He enjoyed this discovery so much that when Zigur asked that at least he be allowed to depart with dignity, and pay tribute as a subject ruler, this too Ar-Pharazôn rejected, being already swayed unawares by the subtleties of that Lord's speech, and tempted by that subtlety to amuse himself by humiliating his supposed rival.

He demanded that the Lord of Middle Earth return with him behind his train to his fortress of Umbar, and there swear allegiance to him in the court of his own great stronghold and palace before a great assembly of his subjects. Behind the armies of Ar-Pharazôn that swarmed over the land like ants, rode the bodyguard and heralds of the Lord of Middle Earth. Their banners were dwarfed by the banners of Númenor, and the small bodyguard that Ar-Pharazôn had allowed to ride with their Lord seemed pitiful beside that force. As he watched them, it seemed to Ar-Pharazôn that his foe sought to retain some last part of his dignity, and he smiled as he rode to think that soon he would tear it from him.

On the first night of their journey to Umbar, as they camped, the Lord he had captured came to him in secret, less haughty now than he had been before his men, and sought for ways in which he might make peace and go free; he asked above all that he not be humiliated before the Men of Middle Earth. Ar-Pharazôn made no answer and several times more that Lord came to him in secret to try to win release, revealing in the end to him even his status as a Maia. And with each night, Ar-Pharazôn 's desire to see that humiliation grew, and in his anticipation he never wondered why that was so, nor who manipulated him to desire it.

So it was that at length his army, and his citizens in his colony of Umbar were arrayed around the Great Square of that city in their thousands, the heralds gave out a great trumpet blast, the sun shone on the weapons of his host, and Ar-Pharazôn commanded the Maia who stood before him to kneel and swear to serve, never stopping to think that the one he spoke to could obliterate him in an instant if he wished it, or wondering why he would obey such a command.

Then the mightiest being in Middle-Earth knelt before Ar-Pharazôn, and bowed his head, and he begged for mercy. And Ar-Pharazôn smiled, and commanded that the gems and gold that his victim wore be brought to him, thinking to humiliate him further. Then the base hands of mortals stripped the jewels from the glorious one who knelt there, unresisting, and the King arrayed himself in them, and was pleased. The defeated one knelt there, his head bowed, and so in seemed misery he swore to serve Ar-Pharazôn . But his hand yet concealed One piece of gold that the King knew not of, and behind the curtain of his hair, he smiled, knowing that the King had taken the bait that he had devised for his undoing. And further he smiled as the King gave in to the carefully planted desire and had the hands of his servants throw Zigur on his face in the dirt. For Zigur knew that the King believed such thoughts came from his own mind, and it was not so. The King believed his enemy powerless; he would not be wary of one so utterly defeated.

Ar-Pharazôn was his to destroy.

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Disclaimer. Not my characters. Not making any money out of this

This fanfic is dedicated to the true Lord of Arda, Mighty and Radiant.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This fic is based on information from the Akallabá»‡th, the account of the Downfall of Númenor written by Elendil, and printed in the back of the _Silmarillion._But with a slightly different slant.

Zigur: According to the Notion Club Papers (in Volume IX of HoME), this is the name Sauron used in Númenor. (only with an accent on th 'u' that this site can't handle, so I've omitted it!)

Umbar: according to the Appendices of LotR, Umbar was one of the principal colonies of the Númenoreans in Middle Earth at this time, and it was here that Sauron submitted to them and was taken hostage.


	2. The King's Captive

**CHAPTER 2: The King's captive**

Ar-Pharazôn, the Golden, was the mightiest King of Arda. None could stand before him. Of this he was now sure. Even a Maia could not withstand his might, he had proved this, not only to himself but to all the Men of Arda..

The King stood on the balcony of the palace of Governor of Umbar, a broad space inlaid with marble and with steel, and looked up at the towering headland above the city. There was a great pillar rising there, a pillar that his men has built. It was almost complete now, standing above all other structures that Men had yet made in Middle Earth, a monument to the glory of the latest King of Númenor and to the unending memory of his triumph.

His defeated enemy was still working, somewhere in the forges and workshops of Umbar, at Ar-Pharazôn's command, to create a lasting monument to stand upon that pillar, a permanent reminder to all of the humiliation he had been forced to submit to. That so mighty a Lord should be labouring in such places pleased the King. At the thought Ar-Pharazôn poured another glass of wine. He wondered for a moment why he found that memory so much sweeter than the memory of his other triumphs, but swiftly put the thought aside, and abandoned himself to the thoughts that he seemed, unaccountably, to be unable to put from his mind.

As he drank, images returned to him. The godly being who he ahd defeated arguing with him in parley, but being unable to hold his own against the arguments that Ar-Pharazôn, put forth. Zigur's riding with the King's train to Umbar in vain hope of treaty and forgiveness. The sight of him in the end kneeling in the dust, bowing his head to hide his face, clearly to hide his despair. And the the wonderful moment when Ar-Pharazôn had commanded his men to test the sworn loyalty of the one who knelt before him by casting him to the ground. That was the memory he prized above all others: the mighty Lord of Middle-Earth, who once had walked with the Valar beyond time, there on his belly before Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, pressing his face to the earth, begging that he not be taken from his kingdom as hostage. How clearly Ar-Pharazôn remembered the way Zigur's golden hair lay spread in the dust; how fascinating was the detail of his hand clawing at the soil in misery. For a second it occurred to Ar-Pharazôn to wonder why these thoughts so fascinated him, but his pride wiped away his caution in an instant. More wine, to celebrate his triumph. He had thought his enemy a threat, but saw now that he was not one. And he had never felt such joy from a victory before.

A footstep behind him roused him from the memories.

'Sire, the Lord Zigur reports that he has completed the work you ordered. He begs leave to come before you.' The messenger's voice was neutral; Ar-Pharazôn could not explain the surge of thrilling joy he felt at the words.

'Let him be brought to me.' _Oh, yes, the King thought, let me taste again the joy of seeing him humbled on his knees before me; after all, why should I not enjoy this... something whispered to me tells me that it is my right, that which is due to me. His claimed Kingship was an insult to my position, and it is well that he is made to feel that. Another glass of wine is called for to celebrate the moment; I hold the mithril goblet that I forced him to give me in tribute carelessly in my hand as he enters_.

Without a word from the King, the one known in Númenor as Zigur knelt before Ar-Pharazôn in a simple, fluid movement, graceful beyond words. Again his head was bowed, again he lowered his voice in respect as to one mightier than he. Ar-Pharazôn raised the goblet to his lips as he looked upon his sworn servant. It would amuse him to drive home more fully the realities of his surrender.

'I am told you have prepared the monument that I commanded you to create?'

'Sire, I have done so.' Again Ar-Pharazôn watched his enemy bowed in submission, and felt once more a joy that he had not experienced before he heard Zigur's voice.

Ar-Pharazôn forced his thoughts back to the present. 'What have you created for me?'

Zigur gestured over the balcony, and Ar-Pharazôn saw for the first time the great globe of imperishable crystal that the one who claimed to serve him had created. A Maia of Aulë, with all his craft, Zigur had created a great sphere of a substance like adamant, reflecting and showing to those that coveted it all the light of the world, imperishable save by the will of the one who created it. In future days, its destruction would be a luxury symbolising Umbar's submission to him, and the planned final erasure Númenor's power in Middle-Earth.

There was singing, and there was laughter, and there was joy, as that globe was set on the great pillar above the Haven of Umbar. In that hour Ar-Pharazôn declared that it was set there as a symbol of the power and glory of Númenor, and the apparently defeated one knelt before the monument, and Ar-Pharazôn told him ' This shall be a symbol of your eternal subjection to the men of Númenor, and never shall that memory fade while the power of Númenor itself remains.'

And the one who had wrought that globe smiled to himself as he thought of those words, but in their joy none there noted it.

The ship ploughed through the waves. Númenor was close now, and Ar-Pharazôn thought with joy of the pomp with which he would return to his land with the conquered Lord in chains behind him. They would cheer as Ar-Pharazôn had him dragged through the streets behind the chariot of the King, simply clad and in fetters, barefoot, alone. It would be Ar-Pharazôn's glory. The people would adore him.

The ship ploughed through the waves. Númenor was close now, and he who they called Zigur thought on the way he would bring the Land he hated to its destruction. He could feel already, from the little he had learned of them, the discontent and the jealousy of the life of the Eldar that poisoned the deeper thoughts of many of the mariners around him. Let the Valar's wisdom and their best intentions be the weapon that would destroy their chosen Men. And in that hour, alone in his cabin, he knelt, but not to Ar-Pharazôn . And beyond the Walls of Night he heard a voice which answered him, and contented his spirit. His actions were accepted, and right. His purpose would be fulfilled.

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Author's notes:

I'm not Tolkien. These characters are his, not mine. I'm not making any money out of this fic.

A great globe of crystal: Appendix B of LotR says that a monument of this form stood in Umbar for thousands of years, until in the Third Age Umbar became an ally of Mordor, and Sauron had the memorial thrown down.

A short Chapter, this one. Next week's will be very long, to make up for it.


	3. The King's Hostage

**CHAPTER 3: The King's hostage**

The Land of Númenor was at the seemed height of its glory. Great realms of Middle Earth, once subject to the captured Lord Zigur, were subject to Númenor now. In music and in poetry and in weapons of war, the Men of that land considered themselves without any equal. They made steel and copper of a fineness that no other nation (as they believed) could rival. Their ships sailed upon the slightest wind, and their architects made buildings and towers that rivalled those of Tol Eressëa. Yet the undercurrents of discontent seemed if anything to have become stronger of late, as men asked more often why they could not share the deathless glory of the elves. But still at that time these things seemed unimportant before the glory that was theirs.

In the palace of the King there was music, and light, and dancing, and laughter. In all of these the King shared, for it seemed to him that never had his heart been so full, nor his throne so glorious, or his stature so great as since he had returned from his triumph in Middle Earth; in some unaccountable way all things seemed more precious to him.

Ar-Pharazôn called for wine to be given to his guests, and again the musicians stuck up a dance tune, and he smiled to see his courtiers share his happiness. Yet one of his train, he noted, seemed not to share in the joy around him: Amandil of Roménna. It seemed often so lately; wherever he went Amandil spread discontent and ill feeling. Ar-Pharazôn had not noticed this before Zigur came to Númenor, though he supposed it must always have been so. While all others had rejoiced in the glory of Ar-Pharazôn 's glorious return from Middle earth, bringing as hostage its pretended Lord, Amandil had seemed malcontent. Again and again in Council he had spoken against the bringing of Zigur to Númenor, and Ar-Pharazôn was beginning to suspect that only jealousy led Amandil to speak against the bringing of Zigur as hostage to kneel in Númenor; Amandil must wish that he could humble so glorious a being. Although he never had done so before, Ar-Pharazôn had begun to distrust the council of Amandil, since it now seemed that Amandil wished he could himself have had the glories that Ar-Pharazôn had won.

And now, again, in the midst of his joy, Ar-Pharazôn saw Amandil approaching though the throngs of dancers. It annoyed him to see that Amandil had not partaken of wine, as the others had, nor had he sung or danced; again he came as if to a Council in the middle of Ar-Pharazôn 's well-earned pleasure.

'My Lord, my heart misgives me, and I must talk to you, ' said Amandil, bowing.

Ar-Pharazôn hid his annoyance, and listened.

'Sire, there was a time when you relied on me for council. At first it was for council on how to evade your mathematics and Quenya lessons, and your governesses' wishes to braid your hair, and later on matters of importance. In memory of that time, will you not think again on what I have said before? Will you not listen to my advice concerning the hostage that you brought from Middle Earth?' said Amandil, his voice low and anxious. 'We know that he was mighty there, and has powers, perhaps that we cannot know. I have told you that seems to me unwise to allow him to dwell in our land; he is still a King, and a rival, and it does not seem to me wise that you should forget it. What say you? Will you not at least give him less freedom to walk in Armenelos, speaking we know not what to your subjects?'

Ar-Pharazôn laughed. 'Powers, you say? Then why did he not use them to destroy me as I stripped him of his jewels, and had him thrown on his face to the dust? Have you not seen him come when summoned by me, and kneel when commanded? Does that seem the action of one who seeks to destroy me with his mighty powers?'

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy those memories before he continued. 'Why in the name of the Valar did his armies fly before mine, if his magics are so mighty; why did he allow himself to be led from the harbour to Armenelos in chains? Surely he would have raised his hand and destroyed me, as a child would destroy a troublesome fly?'

Amandil shook his head and his voice was urgent, 'Sire, that is why I council you not to trust in his seeming surrender. He is Maia, and mighty beyond our mortal might. If he acts like one defeated, then there must be a reason, and I do not think it is one that is for the benefit of Númenor.'

Now Ar-Pharazôn was becoming annoyed at the interruption of his pleasure, tired of the continued paranoia of his Councillor. 'Not to trust, you say? A seemed surrender? What, do you think his submission feigned?"

Amandil looked steadily into the eyes of his King. 'Sire, I do think so.'

Ar-Pharazôn laughed, and called for more wine, for it seemed to him that he knew how this could be answered. He called his page to him, and asked that his hostage be roused from sleep and requested to come before them.

In a short time, Zigur came as he was commanded. Ar-Pharazôn, still with his wine in hand, ordered that those present draw back to the walls of the chamber and watch, leaving all the floor of his Hall clear. Then with Amandil beside him, he ordered the Lord of Middle Earth to walk the length of that chamber, and kneel again before him and all the people there present and press his head to the floor.

And the royal hostage knelt, and spoke words of submission, and all in the hall were stunned to see one of that race with his light all but hidden, bowing before their King.

'What do you have to say now?' the King asked Amandil.

'What I said before,' Amandil replied, almost petulantly it seemed to Ar-Pharazôn, but before the King's anger could swell against Amandil, the one who knelt before them spoke.

'Nay,' Zigur said, and his voice seemed rich in its sound, and wise to hear, 'Do not chastise your Councillor simply because he no longer agrees with your policies as once he did. It may be it is only that he is unhappy that you make decisions without his counsel, which once you took, or it may be no more than that he fears that others may usurp his influence upon you. Surely it is not likely that his behaviour suggests he plots harm to you, his King?'

Ar-Pharazôn started at the thought, which had not before occurred to him. But now that it did, he wondered how he could have trusted one who spoke so often against him of late. He must watch Amandil, and those who supported his counsel, and be wary of all they said.

He smiled at Zigur, grateful that his words, carelessly uttered, had revealed to Ar-Pharazôn's wisdom a truth that Zigur himself did not suspect.

'Get up, Zigur,' he offered, graciously, anxious to prove to those around him that his prisoner posed no threat. 'Come, join us. Have some wine.'

'Sire, you are most kind. Would I be too bold if I asked leave to remain beside you and hear your talk, and perhaps understand more of your thought?' Zigur kept hi eyes downcast, and waited on Ar-Pharazôn's word.

Ar-Pharazôn stared. His Kingship was so great that even a Maia sought to learn from him. For the rest of the evening he talked mostly to his subject Lord, and was amazed that they had much in common and understood each other well. It pleased him almost as much that Amandil and his Elf-friend associates took themselves away when Zigur was with him. It occurred to him that both he and Zigur might profit from an exchange of their knowledge. And he realised the great profit that might come to Númenor from it.

oooooOOOOOOOooooo

Within a month, he was proved correct.

The Council meeting had been long and tedious. Amandil had had a great deal to say, much of it about Zigur or about the moral rights and wrongs of various actions, policies, attitudes. Councillor Vorondil had had even more to say, and that was if anything more tedious. Vorondil might have been young, but in Council he was like the worst of old men. He spent a good deal of time discussing the correct procedure, frequently objecting at length to minor points in the account of the last meeting that was given. On almost any issue, however inconsequential, he invariable had to bring into the debate something about the law, or previous events which might be of enlightening; he could debate for an hour on the rights and wrongs of hiring a musician for a court ball. And as ever, he had arrived with a scrap of paper on which he had written half a dozen points which Ar-Pharazôn had had no intention of raising, but which Vorondil felt were of the utmost importance to the Kingdom. One of these had concerned the making of cheese. When the Council was over, Ar-Pharazôn felt more than ever that it had provided no counsel at all.

The one genuinely important issue had been debated at length, and once more without result; the forges of the Númenoreans were standing idle, both in Middle Earth and on Andor itself, for want of iron, and the shipyards were standing idle for want of timber. The root cause of both was simple enough; supplies of wood, and hence of charcoal, were not sufficient to meet all the demands placed on them. For centuries, Middle Earth had been a source of timber for Númenor, but now it could no longer supply those needs. The reasons for this were many, and seemingly insurmountable. There was the increased demand stemming from Ar-Pharazôn's latest policies, there was the unfortunate fact so much deforestation had occurred in past decades that cutting and shipping timber was now possible only in areas far from water transport, and besides that because the Men who lived in those woods had become more than usually hostile were interfering with the supply, for reasons that no one could discern. Even more puzzlingly, there had recently been unprecedented raids on both shipping and on lumberjack camps by orcs; no-one could explain this change in the pattern of orc attacks, although it were many theories, all of which had been expressed at the Council many times and at great length.

But whatever pattern the prolonged arguing took, the outcome was, as always, that all sought to blame the King. The shipwrights and mariners blamed Ar-Pharazôn for the shortage of lumber; the military blamed him for want of bows and armour; the blacksmiths blamed him that they could earn no living for want of iron; the lumberjacks in the colonies of Middle Earth blamed him that he had failed to protect them, and if the unwelcome reports of Vorondil were to be believed, when winter drew on all the people of Númenor would be blaming him that they had no wood for their stoves, since the cutting of the little wood that remained on Númenor had been forbidden for centuries.

In stating these facts repeatedly and at length, and attempting to assign blame, the Council had stinted no effort. Unfortunately in finding a way to reduce the need for wood the Council had been singularly unhelpful (except for the bleating of Amandil about reducing military expenditure and avoiding war).

Ar-Pharazôn was in need of sympathetic company. Of late, he had often turned to Zigur for this, as the only person of status around him who was not involved in Númenorean politics, and above all as the only person who understood the burden and problems of Kingship. He did so tonight.

Zigur, as ever, was anxious to please him. He poured wine, and listened attentively to Ar-Pharazôn's account of the meeting. When that account was complete, he asked Ar-Pharazôn what he thought should be done.

'In truth, I do not know. I must press on with the armament of my nation, to spread its glory wider and to guard against the threat of others. I need ships for this purpose, and iron also. But the fact is, that the available wood will not suffice. If the Wild Men could be subdued, and the orcs eliminated ... but that would require more iron, more ships, more men... I cannot see any way that the ruin of my hopes can be avoided...' Ar-Pharazôn realised that he felt comfortable telling this to Zigur as he could never feel comfortable telling any of his squabbing Councillors.

'Perhaps if you could limit the use of wood to those purposes where it cannot be avoided, and find substitutes in other cases?' Zigur suggested.

''That has already been done. Coal can be used to provide heat for our homes, in spite of Vorondil's worries; I have ordered that the mines in the South of Númenor from which it comes increase their production as much as they can. They will provide some of the fuel for our domestic stoves, and for our Colonies in Middle Earth peat can be cut and burned, supplying that need to a limited degree. But it does not alter the fact that we cannot provide wood for the making charcoal to smelt iron, while still supplying our shipyards, building stockades at our Three Mile Posts along the roads of Middle Earth,, and providing fuel for the many men who now dwell there. And without sufficient ships, we cannot take coal to Middle Earth...' The whole vicious circle nature of the problem overwhelmed him, and he trailed off into silence.

'Then why not supply your colonists with coal mined in Middle Earth to use as fuel?' Zigur enquired.

Ar-Pharazôn was startled. 'I did not know that coal was to be found outside Númenor! Our folk traditions have taught that it is one of the gifts of this Land, provided by the Valar.'

Zigur laughed. 'I assure you that I have had coal mined in many of the lands of Middle Earth. There is coal in Rhudhor, and in the Ered Luin, and great amounts in the East. If the teachings of this land concerning the Valar's gift have led you to believe so, then they have deceived you.'

Ar-Pharazôn started at Zigur's words. That any might contradict the popular tradition of the gift of the Valar shocked him, yet he knew that Zigur had ruled over vast areas of Middle Earth, and that if coal were found there, he would know it. In the excitement of the revelation, he did not stop to consider that the popular tradition might not be the same thing as the words of the Valar themselves. He felt instead stunned that the Powers had chosen not to reveal this.

'Then I can import coal to the furnaces of my manufactories and the stoves of my people from Middle Earth?'

'Certainly. I myself would be happy to pay you tribute in such a form. If I do so, perhaps, in return, Sire, you might permit the removal of your garrisons from Mordor? After all, is not the tribute enough to show my loyalty, so that you no longer need to confirm it with the occupation of my Land?'

Ar-Pharazôn thrilled to hear that there was a partial solution to his problems. And better yet, of course it would be no longer necessary to keep, provision and fuel garrisons in Mordor, with all the problems of supply that that entailed; after all, its Lord would never have revealed this to him this militarily important secret if he intended harm to Númenor. Obviously further garrisoning was unnecessary.

Ar-Pharazôn signalled to Zigur to refill his glass. 'You improve my spirits immensely,' he said. 'There will be wood enough, I deem, for the shipwrights at least, although the smelters will still be short.'

Zigur raised his glass in answer to Ar-Pharazôn's. ' But you will have coal in plenty from Mordor; that can provide for your smelters, leaving all of your timber free for stockades and ships!'

'You think I am a fool!' Ar-Pharazôn declared, setting his glass down with an exclamation.' Iron cannot be smelted with coal; the iron produced is useless!'

'What did not the Valar, through Ëonwe, instruct their chosen Men in the making of coke either?' enquired Zigur. 'Then you are fortunate that I, a Maia taught by Aulë himself, am here to guide you. Coal can be made into a substance like to charcoal; all that is needed is to heat it strongly in the absence of air. I will show you how it is done. You will have no need of wood to produce iron.'

Ar-Pharazôn stared at him, astonished.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I'm assuming here that Zigur is able, to some degree, to do the 'Voice of Saruman' trick, which I'm taking to be something any Maia in fair-seeming guise can do. Combined with his carefully playing on all Ar-Pharazon's weaknesses of character, of course.

The idea that Zigur taught the Numenoreans about coking coal is my own, but it is an idea based on a passage in the unfinished text 'The Lost Road' (HoME V), where Elendil tells his son: 'At first he revealed only secrets of craft, and taught the making of many things powerful and wonderful, and it seemed good.' I tried to think of something he might be able to tell them which was consistant with the level of technology the Numenoreans seemed to have.

The main weapon of the Numenoreans were steel bows, hence why a shortage of this raw material would have worried the very militaristic Ar-Pharazon.

Oh, and Tolkien invented this stuff, not me. I'm not making a profit.


	4. The King's Councillor

**CHAPTER 4: The King's councillor**

Many that dwelt in Númenor held that the years which followed Zigur's coming there were the greatest in its history. The plentiful tribute of raw materials from Middle Earth which Zigur provided enabled its craftsmen to flourish and increased Númenor's trade and wealth; there was greater prosperity in that time than the land had ever known. Too, the King's mood was more often generous, and he seemed to all to be burdened with fewer cares and matters of state than at any time since he seized the throne. More often now than ever before the King's palace was a place where those who had his favour met; at such gatherings always Zigur seemed to be present, and where he went the music seemed more joyous and the drink sweeter.

The most important matters of State for Ar-Pharazôn over the next two years were military ones. The new supplies of coal, coke and steel led to the need for the strengthening of garrisons and the enlarging of the areas under Númenorean influence in Middle Earth, in order to safeguard their source. Ar-Pharazôn had long believed that he had great skill in such matters. And now he found he was not mistaken on that point. An army by men out of the East who attaked certain of the southern garrisons and ports was destroyed with great ease by men following Ar-Pharazôn's commands, and several troublesome incursions of orcs ended with the monsters driven from their lairs and exterminated.

Indeed, in those days Kingship seemed less of a burden than it had ever been before. More and more often the thoughts of the Council agreed with those of the King before ever he spoke of them; it seemed to the King that he must be more skilled at government than before, if all men independently came to his conclusions. The newfound unity of most of his Council pleased him; he was certain that it resulted from his increased wisdom now that he had Zigur's advice to help him in his decisions.

For help him Zigur did. In Council he told often of what he had learned in his own realms and from the teachings of the Valar. But more than that, before the year drew to its close he began to instruct Ar-Pharazôn in private, if he wished it. Ar-Pharazôn found that Zigur had become his closest friend, the one to whom he was accustomed to speak when he was tired or angry, the one to whom he turned when he distrusted all others, and the one who, as often as not, shared wine with him and talked late into the night, cheering him. Certainly he was a more cheerful companion than Amandil, his friend since childhood, who beforetimes Ar-Pharazôn had counted his closest companion; Amandil seldom drank more than a cupful of wine. The King found his first impressions confirmed; he was comfortable in Zigur's presence as he had never felt in any other's since he had seized the throne. Perhaps it was because both were of great status, almost equals.

Of course, there were still causes for annoyance. Amandil continued to spread dissent among the members of the Council. Fortunately, as the months passed fewer and fewer on the Council seemed disposed to listen to him.

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On a night in Hithui, Ar-Pharazôn sat at ease, with the wind and the rain beating on the windows of his private chambers, and the fires roaring high in the grates, their light sparkling from the engraved glass and polished gilt of his rooms. As had become his habit after Council meetings that lasted long, he sought companionship. Beside him, in a similar chair of inlayed wood, sat Zigur. Together, they talked of the burdens that were laid on Kings, that others could not know.

'Did you ever find yourself burdened with such a Councillor as Amandil, who twisted all you said until you almost felt that you were morally wrong?' Ar-Pharazôn enquired.

Zigur smiled 'I have encountered many such in my time, but I was fortunate in that I never suffered any such to gain a hold of the minds of a Council.'

'You had luck then.'

'It was not luck. It is for a ruler to decide whose counsel he will accept. Yet I believe that what you have said reveals a truth; Amandil has too strong a hold on the Council as a whole, Ar-Pharazôn. Otherwise they would not listen to his endless whining on the subject of religion. Who among the men of Númenor in these days is content with the plans of the Valar for Men? Not one that I have met, save he. Yet none will speak openly of their thoughts, for they fear Amandil's influence and ambition.'

Ar-Pharazôn considered for a moment. He himself had often felt uncomfortable when men spoke, as most did, against the Valar's possession of the Undying Lands, and their denial of the gifts of that Land to Men. As Zigur spoke, it occurred to Ar-Pharazôn for the first time that his discomfort might be the result of a wish not to offend Amandil. At that idea anger stirred in him; he was King, and should not be deflected from his own opinions by one of his subjects.

'You are right, Zigur! Why should my Council be afraid to speak their minds because of one man?' Ar-Pharazôn waved his almost empty glass in emphasis, and Zigur listened ernestly to his words.

'Why, at the next Council meeting I will have this matter out with him. He will see how many truly agree with his determination to cling in subservience to the superstitions of a past millennium! I will wager that it will not be many, and he will make sure he sees just how much influence he truly has. What say you?'

'Indeed,' Zigur replied softly, 'I think I can promise you that you will find that few support him.'

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Amandil had suspected since he first saw Zigur brought captive to Númenor that Zigur's influence over the King was dangerous and unwholesome. On the day when Ar-Pharazôn spoke to the Council against the Valar, declaring that the Men of Númenor would heed them no longer, he knew with certainty that it would lead the King to ruin, and with him, as like as not, all his subjects.

Yet he saw also on that day how far Zigur's influence had spread among the Court, without any noticing it; at the Council all save he had spoken in support of Ar-Pharazôn's words, even declaring that the Ban should be ignored. For almost a millennium now the greater part of the people of Númenor had spoken against the Valar, discontent at their own mortality, and refusing to honour them. But always before they had feared the Valar if they did not love them, and never had they spoken in earnest of defying the Ban.

In the weeks that followed, rumours came to Amandil's ears more than once which disturbed him, rumours that Zigur's influence on the King was turning to more serious matters than mere temporal defiance of the Valar. He knew that Zigur followed the unspeakable religion of the Men of Darkness in Middle Earth, and he feared where his influence on the King might lead. In his heart he sought for guidance, and at last resolved that if the rumours were true he must seek one final time to turn Númenor aside from the course on which the King was leading it, even though the cost to himself might be ruinous.

Amandil therefore sent out messengers to all those who he knew still revered the Valar, asking them to meet with him. They talked together of what they knew of Zigur's actions within the council and without it, and of how those who hearkened to him seemed to change and abandon their old thoughts and friendships. The picture that emerged was frightening. They sent also, on various pretexts, ships to Middle Earth, to speak to those who were Faithful there, and the reports that returned disturbed them even further.

Finally, with a heavy heart, for he knew that he was undertaking a step that would lead to strife in the Council and in the Court, Amandil sought audience with Tar-Miriel the Queen.

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When Ar-Pharazôn next entered the Council chamber, he found to his surprise that the Queen sat in her place at the head of the Council table. Two joined chairs had stood there since the earliest days of his reign, but the one assigned to the Queen had been empty since before Zigur had come to Númenor.

In the first months after her marriage Tar-Miriel had come often to the Council, and attended to all duties of state at Ar-Pharazôn's side, seeking to share the rule of the land if she could not rule herself. As the weeks passed, she saw that the greater part of the court did not heed her, but heeded only the words of Ar-Pharazôn. Within months she realised that if she sought to gainsay him, or to contest with him for the power which was hers by right, there would be civil war in Númenor, and the greater part of the Court would fight for Ar-Pharazôn . Faced by the terrible thought of fighting even in the streets of her realm, and by public mockery of her beliefs from Ar-Pharazôn, she despaired and had withdrawn more and more from public life. Within three years her husband had ruled alone, as he desired. She now seldom came from her own chambers, preferring to remain there with those of her Ladies who shared her beliefs and her grief.

Yet today she had taken her place as Queen once more. Ar-Pharazôn frowned.

'What are you doing here, Zimraphel?' he demanded abruptly as he took his place beside her. From the stares of the rest of the Council, he knew that he was not the only one who wished an answer to that question.

'And why should I not be here, my Lord?' she enquired quietly. 'I am Queen of this land, and have come to carry out the duties which are mine to carry out.'

Ar-Pharazôn ignored the implication of her words. 'And why have you chosen to come today to carry out those duties, when for years past you have neglected them?' he asked, his tone as carefully neutral as Tar-Miriel's.

'I did not stay away in those years by my own choice, Tar-Calion, but by yours, and to avoid the unpleasantness that you introduced to this Council. I have come here now because I can no longer allow my country to suffer as it has been doing.'

Ar-Pharazôn was aware that all eyes in the room were upon him. He heard at least one sharply indrawn breath at the Council table. He was grateful when Zigur broke the silence which ensued, saving him from finding an appropriate answer.

'It is true that in name Ar-Zimraphel shares the rule of this land with the King. Therefore, if it pleases the King, I think that it is fitting we should listen to what she has to say, and consider it.'

A surprised murmur ran around the table. Ar-Pharazôn was disinclined to encourage the Queen's participation, but he had found Zigur's advice to be good so many times before that he nodded his agreement.

Then Tar-Miriel the Queen rose to her feet and spoke.

She spoke with all the passion of her beliefs, and with the dignity of her position and her birth. She spoke of the history of Númenor, reminding men of its origins, and of the deeds for which it was given. She spoke of the deference which men should pay to the authority of the Valar that was given them by Illúvatar Himself. She reminded them of the Darkness which lay over thae lands from which Zigur came, and begged that the Council join her in advising the King to seek the advice of the Elves, who knew more of Zigur's true nature.. She warned of the possible dangers of listening to Zigur's counsel, and begged that they turn aside from their course, which seemed certain to bring Númenor to ruin.

As the Lords listened, it seemed clear to them that the words she spoke were foolish, the words of one who knows nothing of the situation. It seemed to them that the King and Zigur humoured a child who wished to play at rule with her betters, for after the speeches which Zigur had in recent days given on the such subjects all other voices seemed ill-informed and their arguments but poorly expressed.

As the Queen spoke, Zigur attended with politeness to what Tar-Miriel said, yet with a gentle smile on his face, as if of condescending amusement. After a few minutes, the King and others in the chamber began to smile also, but when the Queen began to speak against Zigur there were gasps of anger in the chamber, and the Council were no longer disposed to humour her. And when at last she was silent, a great uproar arose in the Council chamber, and all began to berate her and to shout with one voice.

Then Tar-Miriel bowed her head and was silent in her despair, for she knew then that Amandil's hope was in vain, and it was too late for any to undo the harm that Zigur had done or overthrow his influence on the minds of the King and Court. Looking upon her, Amandil angrily raised his hand in a gesture of command and demanded silence. At length silence fell.

'How dare you treat your Sovereign thus?' Amandil asked of them then. 'Why do you show such disrespect to the one to whom you owe allegiance?'

Zigur nodded his head, and still he smiled. 'Your words are true, Amandil; we have behaved in a manner unfitting to the place and time, and unfitting too for the presence of a Lady. I pray you will accept our apologies, Ar-Zimraphel?'

The Queen bowed slightly in silent acknowledgement.

'It was ungracious to speak so,' Zigur continued, 'simply because one here spoke to the Council who was not skilled at such things, and who lacked the knowledge that those who speak to the Council should have. Rather than anger, we should have replied with advice, that the Queen know that her talents are better suited to other duties. Indeed, her skills are important to us all; the very presence of the Queen graces our ceremonies of state and our merrymaking, so great is her beauty, and her hands are unparalleled in the making of tapestries to brighten our walls.'

Several of the Council smiled, but Amandil leaped to his feet in fury. 'How dare you! Do not tell the Queen to take herself away to her playthings, as if she were an errant child! The King holds his power but as a gift from her! She is more fit to rule the Kingdom than any here!'

'Do you suggest, then,' Zigur asked, 'that the King is not fit to rule?'

'Fit to rule! He is not fit to live! He will bring all here to ruin and destruction, in this world and beyond it, by his misrule under your guidance. If I knew nine years ago what I know now, I would have slain him before he could seize the Sceptre, notwithstanding that he was my closest friend. I rue now that I did not!' Amandil's face shone with fury as he looked on Zigur, and he seemed heedless of the presence of the others in the Chamber, as if something had led him to abandon all prudence.

There was a shocked silence in the Council chamber. Ar-Pharazôn rose sudenly to his feet, his face white with anger. With all eyes upon the King, none in the chamber saw the fleeting smile that passed over Zigur's lips as he also rose and began to speak.

'Lord of Andúnïe, you have spoken treason before all of the King's Council. You have threatened his life, and yours is forfeit. Nevertheless, for the friendship he once bore you, I would beg the King to spare you, and instead suggest that henceforth you are exiled from Armenelos. What says the King? Will he grant my petition?'

And as the King spoke, declaring the the man who had once been his greatest support and his most trusted advisor exiled to their dwellings in the city of Roménna henceforth, the Queen wept, unheeding of who saw her, for she knew that great evil was come into Númenor, and knew also that she could not prevent the ruin that approached.

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Ar-Pharazôn threw yet another sheaf of documents down on the table of the Council chamber with an exasperated sigh. What should have been a routine report on the local government of Roménna, brought, as to often of late, unwelcome news.

'It seems that sending Amandil from the Council and to his own lands was not as wise as you at first made it appear, Zigur,' Ar-Pharazôn said. 'He has gathered to himself many others of that faction who call themselves the Elendili. It seems that they still plot against me, if the reports I am receiving are true; certainly they are unwilling to obey any of my commands if it can be avoided. Their disloyalty grows with every day, they speak against me to any that will listen and it seems that in the year since they came there they have led so many to treason in Roménna that the proper government of that town has become almost impossible.'

'It is certain, then, that they are plotting?' one of the younger Councillors said. 'I do not understand this turn of events. For many years they were among your most trusted Councillors and friends; Amandil himself was the closest companion you had in those years. Why now do they plot against you?'

'I do not know. They are unhappy that I no longer allow myself to be led by them, and jealous of my achievements without them; that much is plain. And they do not agree with many of the ideas of this Council. But I fear that it is more than that. I know now that there is conspiracy among them, to what end I do not know.' Ar-Pharazôn turned to Zigur. 'Have you heard aught which might explain their plotting?' he enquired.

Zigur shook his head. 'I think that it is better I do not answer that question, Sire. If my suspicions are correct, it cannot bode well for you… or for your people.'

Ar-Pharazôn and others in the room looked towards him abruptly. 'What is it that you fear, Lord Zigur?' Vorondil asked, the unease clear in his voice.

'I am not certain… but does it not seem strange to you that those who speak against the King are always found among those who name themselves Elf-Friends, and servants of the Lords of the West?'

'What is it that you mean?' Ar-Pharazôn demanded.

'Again I cannot speak with certainty, Sire. But is it not also strange that those who rebel against you are always of the House of the Lords of Andúnïe, those who long dwelt on the Western shores of your land, next to those havens where the ships of Elves are said to have landed in years past? Can you say with certainty that such ships are no longer seen in your harbours? Could it be that these conspirators receive in secret ships that you know not of, bringing messages from ones who, perhaps, resent your glory and your independence from their orders, when once the men of this land did all that they were commanded, and believed only what they were told?'

Ar-Pharazôn realised now why Zigur had been unwilling to speak of his suspicions; the danger was terrifying. 'If the Valar themselves have caused my subjects to conspire against me, what hope have I against them?' he asked, horrified. The anxious murmur running round the Council chamber told him that he was not alone in this feeling.

But Zigur himself did not seem overly concerned. 'The malice of the Lords of the West is indeed a fearsome obstacle. But remember, they are not all powerful. I walked with them before Arda was made, and I saw all of their history, and know all of their deeds. And I know that they are not so powerful that they have never been thwarted in their plans for the rule of others, if those others have the will to resist them. More than once have their plans to control all Arda as they see fit been foiled.'

Zigur then turned the conversation to ways in which the King's influence on Roménna might be strengthened, and he did not speak again of those matters. But his words remained long in Ar-Pharazôn's mind.

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Disclaimer. Not my characters. Not making any money out of this.

This fanfic is dedicated to the true Lord of Arda, Mighty and Radiant.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

There you go Kharina: Tar-Miriel as requested! In this fanfic, though I'm exploring the methods by which Zigur manipulated Ar-Pharazon and achieved his destruction. Therefore I'll mention the actions of Tar-Miriel and Amandil only where they are relevant to this process; sorry any dedicated fans of theirs who hoped for more of their doings! Here I bring them in to show how Zigur manipulated events so that Ar-Pharazon ended up cut off from those (Amandil and Tar-Mirial) who might have influenced his thoughtsdaway from the teachings of Zigur.

Elendili: the Elf-friends. The name given to those who remianed loyal to the Valar at the time when most in Numenor had turned against them. (Akallabeth)

Amandil: Amandil was the father of Elendil (the first King of Gondor). He had been Ar-Pharazon's closest friend until the coming of Zigur. He was the most influential of the Elendili (Akallabeth)

Lord of Andunie: This was Amandil's (and later Elendil's) title in Numenor. Ar-Pharazon's grandfather, who hated the Elendili, ordered them to leave their own city of Andunie in the West and dwell in Romenna (in the East) as he did not want them on the side of the island where they might get secret messages from Aman ( Unfinished Tales: 'The Line of Elros')

Tar-Miriel: Tar Miriel was the rightful Queen of Numenor, to whom the Sceptre should have passed. Ar-Pharazon usurped her throne. She used the elven form of her name, like her father Tar-Palantir, as a sign of her loyalty to the Valar. The Adunaic form is Ar-Zimraphel.


End file.
